


Look After You

by sansaclegane



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Angst and Fluff and Smut, Eventual Smut, F/M, Happy Ending, Older Man/Younger Woman, On the Run, POV Multiple, Past Abuse, Slow Burn, sansan
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-10-04
Updated: 2017-10-04
Packaged: 2019-01-08 22:34:34
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,573
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12263430
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sansaclegane/pseuds/sansaclegane
Summary: It's been five years since Sandor Clegane was banished from King Joffrey I of England's protective detail for supposed cowardice. Sandor managed to escape Buckingham Palace with his life, and has been hiding in plain sight ever since. The king's ex-fiancé, Sansa Stark, however, was not so lucky. After years of being held prisoner by a ruthless king, Sansa escapes. But where is an eighteen-year-old runaway with a famous name to hide? Rumor has it her long-lost protector owns a pub not too far away...





	Look After You

**Sandor**

 

Sandor Clegane stood slumped against the wall behind the bar and glanced up briefly at the antique clock that hung over the door. _1:46am._ It was nearly last call, and Sandor was ready to drop. The rain hadn’t let up for days now, and the autumn chill was beginning to bite. It was colder than was usual for London in October, and Sandor was suddenly glad he had thought to fix the boiler the week prior. It was not the sort of night you’d want to venture outdoors, especially in Hackney. Still, there were more stranglers in _The Stranger_ than he thought there ought to be, so he resigned himself to another late night listening to the drunken ramblings of men with no real homes to go to.

 _Why the fuck did I buy a pub?_ Sandor wondered bitterly after the filthy man in the corner puked on himself for the second time. He grunted and tossed a rag at the man and told him it was about time he left, then headed back behind the bar to begin closing up. Life at _The Stranger_ wasn’t all bad, but it wasn’t in Sandor Clegane to find immense joy or satisfaction in anything, so he grumbled along day after day, working like the dog he was named for.

Sandor was just about to ring the bell for last call when the front door swung open and crashed against the wall. The loud smack echoed throughout the entire pub, and though startling Sandor, his remaining patrons were too pissed to notice. “Seven hells!” Sandor barked at the intruder. “Shut the fucking door, would you? You’ll drown us all with that rain you’re bringing in.”

The stranger quickly turned around and shut the heavy oaken door, then made their way to the bar. Sandor couldn’t get a good look at them, but he supposed by their stature they must be a woman, and though tall for her sex she was still just a wispy thing compared to him. The girl was wearing a heavy denim jacket over a navy blue sweatshirt with the hood pulled tightly over her head, faded jeans covered with rips and grass stains, muddy brown combat boots, and a small black bag hanging over her shoulder. She had her head down and was staring at her feet, anxiously fidgeting with her trembling hands.

“You’re shaking, girl,” Sandor growled at her. “Do I frighten you so much? _Look at me._ ”

When the girl raised her eyes to meet his, Sandor had to grip the bar separating them to keep from toppling over. It felt as though someone had punched him in the gut. _Sansa._ He swallowed hard. _No, it couldn’t be … Sansa Stark was dead. But her face … what happened to her?_ The girl’s face was a ruin, all black and blue with fresh bruises and a split lip. Dried mascara clung to her cheeks stained red from the cold, and her eyes … _Yes._ Sandor would know those eyes anywhere. He saw them in his dreams. Once wide and full of an infuriating amount hope and wonder, Sandor now saw no glimmer of life at all. 

“Hello, Sandor,” she said softly, the corner of her bleeding lip turned up slightly as if to smile. “I had hoped to find you here.”

 _What is she doing here?_ Her blue eyes were pleading with him. “Little bird,” Sandor answered. “You’re supposed to be dead.”

“So are you,” replied Sansa without a beat. “Looks like you’re just as stubborn as I am.”

“More, I reckon.”

Sansa smiled sadly. “Might be.”

“What are you doing here, little bird? This isn’t exactly the kind of neighborhood a girl should be wandering alone after dark.”

Sansa looked down at her feet again, as though whatever answer she had for him was too frightening to say aloud. Her lower lip began to tremble as a bit of blood ran down her chin. Sandor grabbed the handkerchief from his back pocket and handed it to her. “Here, girl,” he said. Sansa wiped the blood away and gestured for him to take the handkerchief back, but Sandor shook his head. “Keep it.”

“Thank you,” Sansa replied as she crumpled up the stained cloth with her fingers.

Sandor quickly surveyed the pub. “Wait here, yeah?” he said to Sansa. She gave a small nod and sat down at one of the stools.

“Alright, you lot,” Sandor growled loudly. “Closing time, out with you.” He made his way to the door and opened it as his remaining customers fled the pub, muttering curses under their breath. “Yeah, yeah. Fuck off, would you?” He slammed the door behind the last man and locked it, then closed all the drapes and shut off the outside lights. He paused briefly and ran a hand through his coarse black hair and took a deep breath, then headed back to the bar where Sansa sat waiting for him.

He returned to see she had taken her hood down, exposing rich auburn hair that hung down to her waist. She was brushing it through with her fingers. Sandor took his place behind the bar, desperate to keep the oaken paneling between them.

“I … tea. I’ll make tea.” Sandor rummaged anxiously through the cabinets below, searching for the kettle. “Ah. Here it is, blasted thing.” He set the kettle on the hotplate at the end of the bar and filled it with water, then fidgeted with the dial. Sansa cleared her throat. _Don’t you fucking turn around,_ he thought. He couldn’t bear to look at her. _Pull yourself together._ Sansa coughed again. Sandor clamped his eyes shut and he gripped the edge of the bar tighter.

“Sandor,” Sansa called softly. “I know my face isn’t as pretty as it used to be, but I don't bite.”

 _Damn her._ Sandor exhaled and turned around to face her, forcing himself to meet her eyes. She was sitting up straight with her hands folded together on the bar. Sandor moved across from her and put his hands in his pockets decisively. The longer he looked at the bruises the angrier he became, and he wouldn’t let her see his hands curl into fists.

“Joffrey,” she said.

The name alone was enough for Sandor to lose it. He whipped around and smashed a row of glasses, then slammed his fists against the bar as they shattered on the floor. He lowered his head and let it hang down, breathless. He could hear his heart pounding in his ears. Sansa sat motionless, watching him.

“It’s my fault,” Sandor growled. He turned back around and gripped the back of the bar for support. “I should never have left you there with that … with that little _monster._ ”

If Sansa was frightened, she gave no indication. “No,” she said sharply. “It wasn’t your fault. You tried to … you offered to take me away. I said no.”

Sandor shook his head. “You can’t blame yourself for that, little bird. You were just a kid, and I was … you were right to be scared of me.”

“I wasn’t scared of you,” she replied, almost tenderly. “Well, I was at first. I was a stupid girl, naming you as a monster when the real one was lurking behind a pretty face.”

Sansa brushed her hair to one side and stood up from the bar, then walked over and grabbed the dustpan that was leaning against the back wall. “You don’t have to—” Sandor started, but Sansa was already on her hands and knees below him sweeping up the broken glass. Sandor knelt down to help her, brushing the remaining pieces into the bin with a rag. Sansa stopped abruptly and looked up at him. _She is much too close,_ Sandor thought as he inhaled sharply, but they were trapped together between the bar. He was trapped.

“That night … when you came for me,” Sansa began, so low he could hardly hear her. “You said … you said that you’d keep me safe. That if anyone ever tried to hurt me, you’d kill them … Did you mean it?”

Sansa’s sky-blue eyes were fixed on him, and he dared not look away. _She wants me to help her,_ Sandor realized. _She’s here because I promised to protect her._ Some instinct made him lift his hand to tuck a strand of her autumn hair behind her ear. Sansa gazed at his hand as if it were her lifeline, then grabbed it before he had the chance to take it back. She squeezed it tightly and rubbed it with the back of her thumb, and Sandor knew he was gaping at her like a fool. _Such a damn fool,_ he thought. 

“Aye, little bird,” Sandor answered softly. “I meant it then, and I mean it now. I’ll look after you … I promise.”

Sansa snatched up his other hand and gripped it tight, and let go of a breath she must have been holding in for years. A tear trickled down her cheek as she smiled up at him. “So it appears you were telling the truth after all,” she said. “A hound will die for you … but never lie to you.”

Sandor returned the grip on Sansa’s hands, and somehow found himself smiling back.

A sudden piercing noise sounded from across the bar that made Sandor jolt backwards. Sansa giggled softly to herself as Sandor shot her a look. “That’d be the tea,” she quipped.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's heeeeere!! This is my fist ever modern au fic (and hopefully the first multichapter fic I'll actually finish...) Expect a few twists and turns, lots of angst and fluff, and finally some happy SanSan moments! I'd love feedback, but please be nice to me - I just write for fun, not to be perfect! Enjoy. :)


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